


The Teacher's Assistant

by sweet_ladyy



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 70s!Brian, Alternate Universe - College/University, College, College!Brian, F/M, Possibly college AU, Pre-Dom-phase!Brian lol, TeachersAssistant!Brian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 14:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_ladyy/pseuds/sweet_ladyy
Summary: Intro to Astronomy is your college’s most infamously hard class. Another bad exam grade, and you’re on track to fail. But you catch the eye of the curly-haired teacher’s assistant, who offers to help you ace the class. It quickly becomes evident that your study buddy will turn into something more…





	The Teacher's Assistant

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fanfic was requested by @my-bitter-blue on Tumblr. I really hope y'all enjoy my rendition of College!Bri! There will be at least one more chapter to this fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Brian May, Queen, or any other affiliated names or fictional events.

****♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

Intro to Astronomy is the most infamous class in the whole college. Notoriously difficult, the class has a higher-than-average drop rate. Upperclassmen say you should avoid it like the plague, unless you want to destroy your GPA in one semester.

You, being a first year student, must have missed the memo.

Finding your seat in the large lecture hall, you take a few moments to attempt to still your rapid heartbeat. Every damn Tuesday and Thursday you have class, your heart never fails to pound wildly in your chest the minute you walk through the lecture hall doors.

The professor is already writing on the chalkboard, even though it’s five minutes till the hour. Other students have gotten a head start and are frantically copying down the equations. Instead, you find yourself fixated on the stack of papers atop the podium.

_Last week’s exams._ Your heart takes that as an open invitation to go haywire once again.

The clock tower outside chimes the hour. “Mr. May, if you don’t mind, would you please pass out the students’ exams?” the professor says without looking up.

The teacher assistant stands up from his seat at the corner of the hall. He’s always been a reassuring, stable face in the room. The lanky body juxtaposed with the fluffy hair provides a comical sort of softness. You’ve always assumed he would be really nice. But he’s very quiet, and he enters and leaves the class each day without standing around to chitchat.

Mr. May takes the stack of papers and begins passing them out, quietly speaking each name and looking around for the recipient’s hand to raise.

“[Y/N],” he finally says near the end of the stack. You raise your hand and he locks eyes with you, crossing the room to deposit your exam on your desk.

You seize the exam, flipping through it to find the letter grade. Your work is riddled with corrective red pen. Finally, on the last page you spot bold letters reading: “C—”.

_Fuck._ You’d studied so damn much for it. You exhale rather forcefully.

The sound was too loud. The TA’s head turns back around toward you. He gives you a sad sort of look, and your cheeks redden. Already embarrassed, you pray that he hadn’t gone through the class’s test scores and saw yours.

But he’s the TA. He probably fucking graded them himself.

The whole rest of the lecture, you gnaw on your pencil and chastise yourself internally. There’s no way you’re going to be able to get an A in the class now, unless you study like hell. And with all your other classes and work and trying to maintain a semblance of a social life, you don’t foresee that A coming at all.

When you get the sensation you’re being watched, your gaze suddenly breaks its vacant glare at the chalkboard to meet that of the TA’s. He’s been watching you for who knows how long, lips pursed, eyes furrowed. He immediately glances away when you meet his eyes.

The professor finally dismisses the class. Joining the cacophony of scraping chairs and shuffling textbooks, you gather your things and make your way out. You have a long night of studying ahead of you.

Halfway down the hall, you hear someone shout: “Wait! [Y/N], is it?”

You turn to see the TA striding your way, satchel slung over his shoulder. You can’t hide your confusion. Are you in trouble?

“Mr. May?” you ask incredulously.

“Please, don’t call me ‘mister,’ I’m far too young.” The TA simply reaches his right hand out once he reaches you. “Call me Brian.” You take his hand, shaking it.

“I’m sorry if this sounds nosy, but you looked like a kicked puppy when you saw your exam grade today,” he continues.

“Gee, thanks,” you reply in annoyance, turning to walk away. _If he’s just here to make fun of me—_

“Wait, you misunderstand. I’m sorry.” He keeps up easily with your quick pace. “I just wanted to let you know you’re not the only one—”

“That’s reassuring,” you say, not reassured in the slightest.

“—and I know firsthand how difficult the class is,” he continues. “But I also know all the ins and outs. So I wanted to know if maybe you wanted some extra help?”

“I don’t need a tutor,” you snap at him, knowing very well that you do.

“I don’t have to be a tutor,” he says, turning the corner of the building and walking outside with you, not missing a step. “More like a...a study buddy. Seriously, [Y/N], I just want to help you. We could meet up sometime this weekend.”

Your pace slows slightly as you consider his request. Lord knows you won’t be able to pass this class alone, much less ace it.

Plus, he’s looking at you like saying yes would literally make his entire day.

So, you say, “Saturday, coffee down the street?”

His calm smile contrasts the fireworks of excitement in his hazel eyes. “I’ll meet you there at three?”

“Only if you promise to help me ace this class.”

“Well, I can’t promise that, but I can promise to give you every study trick and mnemonic in the book,” he says.

 

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

 

You arrive at the coffee shop far too early, and you fear you look far too nice for a study session. Trying on a thousand different outfits earlier, you’d settled for the skirt and blouse combination on which you’d been complimented on before. It was only after you left the apartment and were halfway to the coffee shop that you realized you were dressed for a date.

So you sit at one of the wider tables in the back of the shop, twiddling your thumbs and waiting for the TA to show up. _Why am I nervous?_ you keep thinking. _It’s just a study session._

At 3:05, Brian walks in through the doors. The smile he radiates once he sees you practically illuminates the entire shop.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says once he approaches. He looks much more casual than you’ve seen him before — certainly much more casual than you — in a long-sleeved white shirt and a black peacoat. “What’ll you have? I’m paying.”

Your heart thuds. He’s paying… _No! This is_ not _a date!_ “House coffee with cream, no sugar.”

He departs to order the drinks, returning with two mugs of piping coffee in hand. In the meantime, you’d strewn out the dogeared astronomy textbook, your notebook, and the wretched test from Tuesday. To your surprise, Brian takes the seat directly beside you instead of across the table. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can berate yourself for thinking it, you notice that he smells good.

“Do you grade these tests yourself?” you ask him.

He nods. But when he registers the horror on your face, he quickly says, “Hey, it’s okay! I don’t even remember yours—”

“I’m such a terrible student,” you say.

He rests his hand on the table beside yours, not touching but they might as well be. “No, you’re not. What, you’re a first year undergraduate?” You nod. “You haven’t even had a chance to prove yourself yet. Give yourself a break. This class is difficult as hell.”

“Did you take it?”

“Yes, a few years ago. I also struggled.” When you give him side-eye at that, he laughs. “No, I promise!”

After hearing his laugh once — the first time you’ve heard it — you long to make him laugh again.

It takes a while before the two of you actually start studying. He spends a lot of time asking about you: your field of study, your roommates, your hometown, your family. He tells you about his life, and how he got into astronomy.

You and Brian click instantly. The world around you seems to blur out of focus when you and he are having a conversation. You can’t help but study his mannerisms, the way he moves his hands when he speaks, the slight upward curve of his mouth, the inflection of his voice.

“I used to love this television show growing up — _The Sky at Night_ — and I would beg my parents to let me stay up to watch the whole episode. My parents really supported all my passions. They bought me a telescope one day, and once I figured out how to work it, I would never come inside.”

You giggle. “So it’s just space then? That’s your whole life?”

“Hardly. I find myself spending much more time practicing my guitar than studying.”

“Your guitar?” _He’s a musician? Oh, my beating, swooning heart._

“I could go on about music for ages,” he admits. “But I won’t bore you. In fact, I’ll bore you now in another way: let’s get started by taking a look at that exam of yours.”

You blink. You’ve all but forgotten that this was supposed to be a study session. It certainly felt like something more there for a little while. As you listen to him help explain some of the questions you’d answered incorrectly, you find yourself wondering: did he feel like this was a date, too?

Hours fly by, and by the end of your study session, your brain feels like mush. “I have a long way to go if I want to pass this class,” you groan.

He smiles softly. “But you’re going to let me help, aren’t you?”

“...If you’re willing...”

He looks you down and up before tearing an edge off a page in your notebook. “Let’s meet again soon,” he says, scribbling his phone number. “Will you call later this week? We’ll figure out a good day and time. We’ll make a study schedule. You’re gonna pass this class, [Y/N], I’ll make sure of it.”

Your stomach flips and flips. It’s a sensation you rather enjoy. “Sounds like a plan.”

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a comment below! Visit my Tumblr, @sweet-ladyy for more Queen-related posts and quirky life updates ~~~


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